


Something Changed

by Septic_wolf



Series: Darkness follows you [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Demon, I don't know how else to tag this one, Immortal!Bruce, Meta!Bruce, My attempt at something a bit heavy, Not graphic but slightly discribed, Warning reference of self harm, and implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septic_wolf/pseuds/Septic_wolf
Summary: Bruce doesn't sleep. So why did he wake up this morning?
Series: Darkness follows you [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908796
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Something Changed

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING   
> SUICIDE IS NOT DIRECTLY MENTIONED BUT IS IMPLIED IN THIS STORY. PLEASE DON'T READ IF THIS WILL EFFECT YOU NEGATIVELY!

Bruce stared at the mirror. The towel discarded to the side, and his hands were stiff on either side of it. Claws dug into the walls. The shadows lapping at his heels, like fire, burning his skin. His reflection that of… A demon. His skin was greyish black. Hair was slightly longer than how he liked to keep it. Horns grew only slightly from the forehead. His eyes a cold blue, icier than his natural blue. _Have my eyes always been blue?_ Bruce couldn’t recall. The demon smirked at him. _“You can’t keep this side hidden. They’ll see you for what you truly are. A being without care. Comfort. Mercy. You’ll break.”_

A fire burned in his skin, the shadows starting to latch, looking so much like a spider’s web, climbing up his limbs towards his chest. Bruce cried out in a silent scream. It hurt. Everything hurt. Why did it always have to hurt? _“They’ll all die. There’s nothing in this world that will stop them from dying. Be it age or war. Everything you ever love will perish and you’ll be alone.”_ Bruce shook his head, trying to get the demon's voice away. _“Loneliness is a silent killer to all immortals. It breaks a man worse. It’ll kill who he really is. Leave something else behind.”_ He could hear the smirk coming over his face. Bruce wanted to cry, to beg for it to be wrong. _By God let it please stop. Save me from this torment._

The demon hissed at him, the shadows starting to dig into his skin harsher. Why were the shadows doing this to him? Was he not their master? They weren’t listening to his command. _“You will be a vessel of torture. Of torment and regret. You’ll know pain and suffering and present it as a gift to all that you meet. There is nothing more that you can bring to this world.”_

The shadows had reached his chest. Gurgling noises filled the expanse of the changing rooms. It felt like his insides were being ripped out from him, leaving him hollow. Nothing. No heartbeat. No air. No hunger.

Nothing.

Sunlight was blocked by the thick curtains in the master bedroom. When Bruce had moved in there upon his return, it was the first thing he’d changed about the manor. His parents had been early risers, ready to take on the day once the sun came through their window. Bruce was not so proud to say the opposite, that he would have been happy if the sun stayed away. That he got to live in darkness. It was more comforting.

But Bruce stared that morning. Watching the few rays of sunlight pierce onto the floor where they could only appear in the room. Alfred was walking around the manor, waking the boys. Tim would be the first up. Then Dick… If Jason stayed the night, he would have been up before Alfred got to his room to help with breakfast. His second eldest enjoyed cooking with Alfred the most of his boys.

Bruce prayed that Alfred assumed he was still in the cave that morning. That he would have some moments alone before having to approach his sons. Apprehension. Dread filled his stomach. It felt as if anything he might eat today would taste like ash on his tongue again. Bruce wanted… He wanted to be left alone. To sleep. To rest. Forget…

Forget what he wasn’t entirely sure. The shadows were agitated, hissing and writhing with some unknown anger to him. He pulled up his hand, looked at the normal, white… hand. His claws weren’t out. They weren’t the greying black skin that he’d been seeing from his stints of death. He’d done well at staying alive for about two whole weeks. Dick and Jason were commenting how they may even feel comfortable letting out onto the field since the skins turning back. Bruce was pleased.

He’d been practicing for the most part. Going in and out of shadows. The realm was starting to make more sense to him. He’d practiced wandering into a different room of the manor, though he tried his hardest to not scare Alfred. He was thankful he could tell what room Alfred was in when he was in the realm.

His shadows were better listeners than they used to be. They would shield him, and other objects he indicated towards. He could darken a whole room, even with light inside of it. Bruce was rather impressed with himself.

This morning… That pride wasn’t there.

This morning he wished to be left to the darkness.

“Good morning, Master Bruce.” He groaned, pulling the covers over his head not bothering to acknowledge the butler, whom he heard open up the curtains. Causing Bruce to hear the shadows hiss their displeasure. “Master Bruce?”

Bruce felt the prod on his side and nudged his knee out. It was childish, but Bruce wasn’t having it. He wanted darkness. The night. Solitude!

“My word, sir. Your sons would like to see you before they take off for the day.” The covers were pulled off and another shout came from Alfred. Bruce didn’t know what the concern could be. “My WORD!”

Bruce glanced at himself and to his utter horror… There was blood. Blood everywhere on the white sheets. Sitting up Bruce followed the trail, tried to discern where it all came from. How… Bruce glanced at his chest. Trails, ten to be exact, came from his chest. He’d clawed himself in his… Sleep? But Bruce didn’t sleep anymore. Why didn’t he remember?

“Did you go out last night, Sir? Were you injured?” Alfred went right into “nurse” mode as Dick always called it when there was something to be patched up, but Bruce couldn’t remember going out last night. He couldn’t remember much of the evening at all. He had planned to stay in. Read a book that Jason had recommended. Look over WE papers. Watch over the video feed of a warehouse he'd been casing. Shower. Go over his gear. Clean up the changing room… The blank started there.

_I was moving that towel off the mirror._ Bruce shot out from the bed, clambering. His leg got caught in the sheets. Tripping him. Cursing Bruce freed himself to run to the study. He could hear Jason call out at Alfred. Dick’s head had emerged from the dining room, but Bruce thundered past.

Opening the clock entrance Bruce fired down the stairs. The shadows licked at his heels, but he didn’t care at the moment, they would catch up. He threw open the changing room door and stared.

It was a massacre. 

Blood covered the sink, splashed up onto the walls, covered the floor. There were bloody handprints on the mirror, the edge of the sink, the wall, a bench… the floor. Bruce nearly collapsed. It seemed he’d dragged himself to the shower stalls. There was a hint of blood there as well, on the handles. He’d tried to wash himself… He looked down. It seemed that he hadn’t been able to turn on the water.

“Oh my @*&!” Bruce whipped around, saw the horror-struck faces of his sons and pseudo-father. They were taking in the scene, staring with… He didn’t know how to characterize their expressions. They didn’t talk. They didn’t really change their expressions. Tim disappeared and Bruce was sure that he heard retching in the main area of the cave.

Dick walked forward, trying not to step on the puddles and… Water? He wasn’t sure. “What the #*!!, Bruce?” his voice was soft, but he could feel the undercurrent.

“I… I really don’t know, Dick. I woke up. I couldn’t remember what happened-”

“You woke up?”

Bruce blinked. He didn’t wake up usually. He didn’t sleep.

He doesn’t sleep.

“I…”

“Bruce, did you die last night?” He blinked. Looked at the blood on the ground. _I died._ Bruce nodded solemnly, bringing up his own hands to his face. Why had he… What… “Bruce, I, you… Why did this happen?”

He glanced to his eldest. Alfred and Jason were no longer in the door, but nearby, looking at the mirror and sink. “I… I don’t know. I think… I think I saw something in the mirror. Myself. But I was… I was different. I talked like I wasn’t who I am. I talked about tearing out who I was and leaving a vessel that knew only-” Bruce paused, trying to think back. To recall his own pain.

“Bruce. If a mirror made you do this-”

“I’ve never seen anything like this when I’m upstairs… Just this one.”

“Regardless, what if it moves.”

“It hasn’t.”

“But what if it does?!”

“Sirs…” Bruce and Dick glanced over. The mirror was covered once more. Jason was in the cleaning closet, getting the mop. “Perhaps you should go upstairs and comfort, Master Timothy. We can sort the matter more on a later date.” Bruce looked again to the room. How do you explain this to a teenager? 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this is going to be a bit rare, but I need to write two parts for this one. I don't plan to take forever to write the next part, but I need to sleep. (It's my final semester of college so I'm trying to end strong!) Know that we will resolve with Tim and some stuff will be getting set up for the later parts of the story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it for the most part. I liked writing something a little bit heavier, though I don't think I got as dark as I wanted to. That may have been from my impatience. I'll work on it. lol 
> 
> Leave a kudos and comment! :) 
> 
> Remember to be kind to others, but also be kind to yourself!   
> Stay safe!


End file.
